


like a page right out of ernest hemingway

by raindropwaltz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: (sorry everyone), (sorry mom), Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DA!padmé, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, and a rating change because yeah we get down to that, author is awful at tagging so tell her what you need p l e a s e, basically the author saw birds of prey and got like 17 types of messed up and now here's this au, but that's the minor stuff to be mad at me over, but then things get Personal™ as things tend to do, cops n' robbers au if u will, crimelord!obi-wan, dark hallway shenanigans, illicit kissing, some character death and mentions of other recognizable folks, tagging this just in case people need it i got yall, well this is multichapter now so that happened, wherein ben kenobi is a detective-gone-crimelord and padmé is a district attorney out to get his ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindropwaltz/pseuds/raindropwaltz
Summary: she can't resist taking her turn in this game they play--the board is littered in bodies and copcars and legal red tape and she's got her own set of handcuffs with his name on them ready for the day he finally,finallyslips up enough for her to snap them on for good.or:it’s like kids playing cops n’robbers—except somewhere along the way it stopped being a game and turned into something else entirely, and they aren’t totally sure where that happened.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> twitter shenanigans that culminated in: "crimelord & the DA who keeps trying to put him away—too bad she’s so invested in her job she hasn’t realized her own fiancé’s become a dirty cop..."  
> so now here's this, from a tweet thread i got carried away with and cleaned up a little to shove on here.

One of his petty in-pocket thieves she's been hounding for weeks gets caught, tried, locked up. She shows up at his club front that same night to shove it in his face—nevermind that it’s 10 degrees outside and nevermind that her husband cancelled on her for dinner and she should be upset about that. She definitely _is_ upset about that, but how many times has she cancelled on him now too? It’s fair. 

It’s warm inside, loud, dim, but colorful. She passes the coat check and the hostess; once she's in the main seating area she spots him immediately and feels the burn in her chest, and she wishes she had a copy of the verdict in-hand to slap him with--but she’s not here to cause a scene. Not tonight. Instead she slices her way through the waitresses and scattered chatting club patrons to where he's situated in his favorite corner booth, two men and a woman sitting across but not close to him. She knows who they are, but it doesn't matter. He's seen her and they're on their feet and dispersing into the crowd, but she can feel eyes on her and knows they're watching. She also knows they won't be a threat; if he wanted action he'd have had someone escort her to him, but he waits and his eyes in the crowd hang back to observe.  


She takes it in as she approaches: him sitting in that booth drinking like he hasn’t got a care in the world—god she hates him for it. For _all_ of this. For being this person instead of the man she met a decade ago who was top of the force, respectable, _good_ —and now he’s in a nightclub in a velvet suit sipping a martini when one of his own men got thrown in prison. She should be sitting there with that drink, celebrating her win in court—but he looks up when she strolls to his table and she hates how much his smile does to her, even now.  
"Well well--Padmé Amidala, as I live and breathe..." She hates it, hates the slow grin that curves over his mouth, only barely reaching his eyes as he reclines in his plush booth seat and she looms over his table, looking down at him imperiously even if he completely ignores it. "Or is it Padmé Skywalker--" he knows it isn't, as many times as she's had his smug ass in court now and as long as they've known each other, "--I forget so often."  
"Whatever you want. I know the kind of jog your memory needs." She folds her arms over her chest, meeting his eyes without hesitation. He arches a brow, smile not budging.  
"And you're not here for that, are you darling." It's her turn to smirk, and he leans forward just slightly in interest. "So what brings you to my fine establishment tonight? I heard you had a very good day today--where's your...other half?" He doesn't wait for a reply. "No celebration?" He feigns shock, and then sympathy. "Let's fix that," he waves down a girl in next to nothing carrying a tray of drinks and gives a sweeping wave. "A drink--on me, of course." She gives him a withering look, but still takes a martini from the tray and lets the girl be on her way.

  
When his expression goes far too smug, she sets the glass on the table, untouched, and tilts her chin up slightly.  
"Enjoy this while you can, Kenobi," she says finally, fixing him with a look that could melt stone. She takes a step forward, leaning over the table slightly. Her voice lowers, "This is another of your boys in lockup and I'm not. Stopping." He leans too close to her and she wants to back up but refuses to, won't back down to his attempt at dominance.  
"Oh, I'm counting on it." Her brow knits and her eyes narrow.  
"You scare everyone else in this city but you don't scare me." The corner of his mouth tugs up slightly and there's a glint in his eyes that she doesn't like.  
"That's what I love about you, Ms. Amidala,"  
"Mrs." She bristles, but will not admit that it's halfhearted. He looks surprised for half a second but it fades.  
"Ah yes, mrs." She contemplates walking away right then but he speaks up, brow arching at her in a dangerously casual way that means so much more than anything at all casual. "In that case, where's _mr_ tonight, then?"  
"Working." It's the truth. No reason to hide it; Anakin's busy, good at his job. He settles back in his seat, looking all too pleased with himself.  
"Taking a leaf out of your book, I imagine." Her eyes narrow.  
"He's hard working. He's always been, you know that as well as I do."  
"Do I?" One hand at her side balls into a fist under her coat.  


\--And then it relaxes. Her expression shifts as she watches him, enough that even the look in his eyes seems to falter some and make his shit-eating grin fade. One hand finally slides to the drink, but doesn't lift it. She looks down at the glass.  
"When did it get like this, Ben?"  


He does take a drink from his martini, at length.  
"Like what, darling?"  
"This. You." Her fingers curl around the stem of the glass, "Me."  
"Us, you mean."  
"There isn't an 'us'." He leans forward now, giving her a look from under hooded brow, and she sets her jaw under his gaze.  
"There's an 'us', Padmé. There's been an 'us' for years now." She's lifted her drink before she even realizes it, the urge to have alcohol in her system to deal with this beating out her resolve not to give him the satisfaction--because he's fucking right, and she knows it. She and him. Amidala and Kenobi--tabloids printed once that she spent more time on him than she did on her own husband.

He reaches out and clinks his glass to hers unceremoniously, then drinks.  
"Might not be what I'd like, myself, but here we are." He nods at her, "You," he watches her take that first sip, finally, "Me. _Us_. Just like every time we get a one-up on each other." He takes another sip, smiling sardonically. "'Round the ring again." She's frowning, and her martini is doing nothing.  
"Us." She sighs at last, and in the end sinks into the booth across from him. "How did we get here?" She asks again, watching him over the rim of her glass. He shrugs, sets his empty glass down with a little ' _clunk!_ ' as he gulps the last bit.  
"Life, my dear." He swallows again, "Gets us all in the end." She shakes her head, setting her glass across from his and frowning.  
"I don't believe that. do you, really?"  


She fixes him with a look she hasn't given him in years, and he pauses. For the first time in a long time, he pauses, really looks at her, and for a minute, he's the same Ben she knew before, in the precinct.  
"Some of us are just better at resisting than others," he says finally.  
"You aren't?"  
"I wasn't." 

She studies him and he's still Ben, he's still Ben Kenobi, he's still the man she knew, the man she--  
"Anakin's been doing a fine job of it himself, seems like." Somehow this mention of her husband feels more slicing than anything else he's said yet. She settles into her seat, taking her drink again.  
"He's good at what he does. He's a good cop." She sips, weighs the gin on her tongue. He was a good cop. An angry man. A distant husband, lately--but then...was she much better as a wife? Maybe she isn't angry like he is, but she's never home. They've clashed about it time and again, but lately it was like they barely knew each other anymore. Ben gives a half-shrug.  
"Always was a good kid." But his eyes study her and he still has that sixth sense of his. "An angry kid," he continues, watching her like a hawk. "But passionate about his job." She takes another drink.  
"Aren't we all." She sighs, watching the olives twirl on their toothpick in her nearly-gone martini. She has no idea why she's still here.  
"Padmé," comes his voice from across the table after too-long, softer than it should be. Softer than she's comfortable with, and creating a too-pregnant pause in its wake. She slides her legs out of the booth and downs the last of the martini before getting to her feet.  
His hand is on her arm--not grasping, just resting there on her forearm, fingers on the inside of her wrist. A gesture from a long time ago that makes her stop on habit alone.  
"Stop it," she slips her arm out of his reach, gathers her coat on her arm without looking at him.

The club's busy enough. Two people in the crowd don't garner much attention, not even Ben Kenobi and Padmé Amidala. She slips through the crowd towards the entrance and he cuts a path behind her. She knows he's following but refuses to look back, refuses to give him that--refuses to give in to that urge in herself. 

He catches her, though. Whether she lets him or it's an accident or what, she can't work out, because he pulls her into a dark, quiet staff corridor and all her careful, planned out thoughts go right out the window.

"What are you--" He's pressed her back against the wall in the dim light. Like this she's very aware of the fact that he's not as broad as Anakin, but he's bigger than she is, still. His gloved hands hold her just under her shoulders and she can feel his fingers flex slightly. Her breath hitches. His blue eyes are burning into her in the low light and she swallows thickly under his gaze, suddenly nervous for the first time all night. She looks down, trying to keep herself together.  
"Look at me." Her eyes close, though, and she takes a deep breath, determined to keep herself steady. "Padmé," leather-clad fingers tilt her chin and his voice is low, quiet, eyes electric on hers. "I said, look at me."  
Like she's a child. Like she's the flustered intern in the firm again. She does meet his gaze, but her brow knits and she inhales deep, giving him nothing more. He's looking for something in her eyes. She knows what it is and she's terrified that it's still there, that he'll _find it_. She still can't look away. His fingers are still on her chin and she wants to wrench away but she can't move, or maybe she really _doesn't_ want to--and that might be more frightening, anyways. 

"Are you happy?" 

It feels like a gut punch.  
"What..?" She can barely get it out in her surprise. His expression is hard, almost cold, but his eyes are _burning_. His hands tighten their grip slightly and he's practically growling.  
"You hear the quietest mutters in a courtroom, I know you heard me." She's struggling to respond for a moment too long and he cuts her off. "You asked how we got here, earlier. I don't know--but you aren't much better off in that sense, are you?" She opens her mouth, closes it. Opens it again, thinks better of what she was going to say.  
"What did you mean," she finally says, holding his gaze, "When you said things weren't like you might have wanted them to be? With us." She watches him lean back just slightly, staring down at her as if weighing his options for a moment.  
"I meant what I said."  


She knows. She knows what he means and she knows why she stayed too long at that table and why she's let him back her into a corner here, almost literally.  
"Ben, I--" She doesn't know what she wants to say or was going to say and then his mouth is on hers, or hers is on his; she'd be lying if she said she hadn't felt herself surge forward when she felt him shift. His scruff scrapes at her chin and their noses press too-hard into one anothers' cheeks, and his hand cups her face in his gloved palm as he kisses her there in the dim hallway.  
She hasn't been kissed like this in months. Years, maybe. She wonders about him, feels the way he kisses her like he wants to devour her, and isn't sure she wants answers. She shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't _want_ to be doing this--but she feels him shift against her and can't deny it right then, how much she wants this, wants _him_ , how angry she's been for so long that he's done everything he has, that he hadn't looked for other options, that he hadn't--hadn't come to her for help those years ago--  


He tastes like gin, like smoke, like regret and desire rolled together, and she hates how she drinks it down much more easily and eagerly than her martini earlier. How she feels his tongue brush her lips and wants more, how her arm drapes over his shoulder, wraps around his neck. How her free hand catches the lapel of his jacket and pulls him in closer. How she, despite everything, _everything_ , kisses him back.  
His other hand's moved to her waist and her coat is on the floor. His arm winds around her and sweeps her flush against him, and she lets it, presses closer. Her fingers trail into the hair at the nape of his neck, and when finally there's a break, finally they part to breathe freely, she chases his lips with his name in a gasp on her own.  
"Ben--" his hand is at the small of her back and his fingers fan out over her dress.  
"Tell me you're happy." His voice is dangerously low, a whisper against her skin with his lips brushing the tip of her nose like he's holding himself back. "Tell me you're happy, and I'll let you go without another word." 

This time, without any doubt, Padmé is the one who kisses him.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of events preceding disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i honest to god intended this to be a oneshot and now somehow here we are_   
>  _i'm trying to finish within the next few days just because this was so unanticipated i just got real carried away with this au whoops_

She watches the rain from his balcony. His view is perfect—but of course it is. It’s perfect in that way that power gets you: top floor penthouse in a high rise, rooftop garden, balcony that rivals even her own; and she had hers remodeled to be her ideal. But it’s not the _perfectly_ perfect space, even with the tempered glass floor-to-ceiling windows and the beautiful view of Manhattan and the warm, sinfully soft sheets on his bed. She can’t _hear_ the rain, she can only see it, can only watch it blanketing the rooftops below and slice in occasional shimmer streaks through the air on the backs of lightning strikes. She likes the rain. She never takes the time like this to watch it anymore. She supposes that like so much else about this, it’s something she’s wanted and not allowed herself—though watching the rain hardly compares to the rest. His lips are on her back and his beard brushes along her spine, and she nestles into his embrace and watches the rain.

______________________________________________

He doesn’t smoke. There are drinks—often, and many some nights—but he can’t tolerate smoke. Cody tells her he had someone dragged out of a meeting once for refusing to put out a cigar; she wonders if that was the only reason, isn’t sure she wants the answer. The martinis and the scotch flow endless at the club, but within the private confines of his apartment they drink amaretto and sweet wines she brings to try. It isn’t often. Only here and there, only when she’s on his side of town, only when he isn’t working, only when she isn’t angry with him, and sometimes when she is. Only when Anakin isn’t home. Only when he sends a text from a number she won’t save, and deletes within seconds.  
He makes her tea one evening, and she wrinkles her nose at the taste.  
“It’s like a campfire.”  
“It’s robust,” he counters, and she sips it, recognizes the taste later when he pours himself a glass of Macallan before kissing her goodbye.  
She buys a tin of lapsang souchong when she sees it a few days later. Dormé tastes it in her tumbler at work, and makes a face.

______________________________________________

Anakin remains busy, but not so much so that he doesn’t notice her absences from time to time.  
She hates lying to him.  
They have dinners, go on dates. She remembers falling in love with him, she feels love when she kisses him, when he holds her, when they tangle in the sheets of their bed in their apartment. But work comes, as it always does, and she sees so much anger in him that it worries her. He shouts, he slams doors, throws things—she knew his temper before they were married but these fits come faster and more intense, recently, and she is worried for him, more than herself.  
She mentions coworkers, other officers, friends, even, and she sees jealousy and possessiveness in him. **That** makes her afraid—perhaps it is not suspicion now, but the terrain there is fertile.  
Over a quiet dinner at home she mentions Senator Clovis, and it feels like the air itself changes.  
“When did you see Rush Clovis?” He stares at her expectantly, and she manages to explain, but she sees seeds beginning to sow in his eyes. A text comes later.  
_‘Not now’_ is all she replies, before deleting the conversation.  
She does not meet him for weeks after that.

______________________________________________

Six months, and they’re lying in his bed at twilight, fresh from the shower. She has soap here so she smells like herself, mostly; but he lies half on top of her as she lets her hair out of the towel it was wrapped in, the damp curls trailing over the edge of his mattress, and as he kisses his way up her sternum she smells his shampoo and knows her soap won’t cover all of this.  
He leans over her on his elbows and his fingers thread into her curls. She turns to kiss his wrist, and he dips his head to bury his nose in her hair.  
“You look beautiful like this.” It’s a quiet, simple thing.  
“In your sheets?” She teases softly, feels his fingers rub her scalp gently. She turns to nose at his hair now as well, wrapping her arms around his.  
“No. Clean. Fresh.” He kisses just outside her ear, his beard brushing her cheek, “your hair like this.”  
“Like what?” She shifts under him, brings her knees up behind his back and lets him rest on her stomach.  
“Curling,” he smiles against her skin. “You look like you did that summer, when you went home for a few weeks.”  
She’s quiet at this. That trip was years ago, just before her wedding.  
“Mm,” is all she manages. He slides a hand to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek.  
“You look happy,” he says softly. “It makes you look like you did when you were happy.”

______________________________________________

Police Sergeant Krell a few districts off gets arrested for being part of a trafficking ring. He laughs in her face when she gets a chance to talk to him.  
“You have no idea what you’re getting in the middle of, little girl.”  
She doesn’t. But she knows this is bigger than a trafficking ring. Krell was involved with Crimson Dawn, and she knows one person who can give her a little more insight there.  
She isn’t mistaken, but the result isn’t what she expects.  
“Krell? Pong Krell?” His brow is furrowed and his eyes are hard. She nods, going over a copy of the booking report in her hands.   
“Yes. They have him in custody now but his trial is in a week.” She taps the tip of her pen on the paper until he takes it from her, studying the report with ice in his gaze.  
“You need to go home.” She stops, glowers at him.  
“Ben what is this.”  
“Padmé, go home. Now.” He has his phone out and he’s typing fast. “Fives has a car outside. He’s driving you to your complex. Go.” She’s on her feet but not budging.  
“Explain.” He fixes her with that cold gaze and she feels a chill in her, knowing what this means.  
“Go, Padmé.” She’s angry, angry that it’s come to this, angry because this is compromising her job, angry because this is compromising their relationship and her _morals_ —and those have been stretched too-thin already.  
She snatches the report back from him and storms out of his apartment without another glance at him. She knows it’s worthless to fight about it, but she won’t be part of it.

______________________________________________

Krell is dead before trial.  
She gets an anonymous tip too late, and realizes this is absolutely deeper than she thought.  
Krell was on bankroll for Ben Kenobi, and double crossing him for Crimson Dawn’s leader—and the man who simply called himself ‘Maul’ was the catalyst for Ben leaving the force years ago. This wasn’t a simple petty doublecross, Krell wasn’t ignorant of that history.

______________________________________________

Five bodies turn up in the next three weeks. All Crimson Dawn members.  
She hasn’t heard from him since that night.

______________________________________________

Anakin is passed over for a promotion after a bad psych evaluation. She stays with Dormé that night. She hasn’t seen him so angry in a long time, and for the first time, she’s afraid of him.  
The next evening there is broken glass in their apartment and a wall in need of repair. She doesn’t talk about these things. He apologizes, and she wishes she didn’t feel hesitant to let him hold her.  
“It’s okay,” she tells him, resting against her husband’s chest, “There will be another chance.”  
That, too, scares her.

______________________________________________

Another body, but this time one she recognizes, and it slices through her to see the name and the face on the report.  
“They called him ‘Fives’—he worked for Kenobi.” She’s silent in her office after this revelation. She thinks of him, thinks on the fact that it’s been almost two months, and her hands tremble as she covers her face.

______________________________________________

_‘Something’s going on. I don’t have details but I have Anakin in photos with a guy from CD. Either he’s in trouble or there’s about to be some.’_  
Ahsoka was his partner before she quit and started up as a PI. Getting a text from her out of the blue is strange, but the message itself is worse. Why would she have pictures like that—what would he be doing…  
Her phone rings, and it’s Anakin, as if he’s sensed her internal struggle.  
“Hey—I’m gonna be out of town for a few days,” he tells her, as if nothing is wrong, “don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.” He teases, and she wishes there wasn’t cold, choking doubt in her throat.  
“That’s my line, Ani.” She manages to get back, “Be safe.” She swallows, “I love you.”  
“Love you too babe.” And her phone disconnects. 

______________________________________________

The case she’s working is cut and dried, an easy win, but Anakin’s still gone and she’s staying in her office late like it’s going to somehow keep her from dwelling on everything outside of this one stupid fucking case that she’s going to be in and out of the courtroom for in an hour, tops. It’s only been two days, but he’s told her he’ll be gone longer than he expected. Some part of her is grateful for it, but there is genuine fear in her that wins out. _‘I have him in photos with a guy from CD.’_ She thinks about the words over and over.  
A text comes and she nearly faints into her seat.  
Unknown number.  
_‘Outside your building in 45. Gunmetal sedan.’_ There’s a photo of a man and she knows what this is, and she’s out of her office and locked up in moments.

______________________________________________

He’s had her brought to a small apartment he owns off-record, in a nondescript building she doesn’t recognize.  
He anticipates her when she comes bursting through the door, taking her wrists and kicking the door closed behind them, pulling her into a tight embrace before she can protest.  
She’d raised a hand to swing at him, furious and betrayed and worried and so many other things; it’s been three months and she had no idea what was going on with him, for once—  
His head buries against her hair and he holds her tight.  
“I’m sorry.” He says, arms almost crushing. “Stay tonight. Please.” She’s shaking with the effort of holding everything in, wants to shove him off or pull him close or some mix of the two.  
“Three months— _three months, three **months** , Ben_—“ she hisses, throat tight, “Krell, the Moldains, Higgs—you did all of that, I know you did—“  
“Padmé—“  
“—and now Fives is dead, and I heard they’re close to bringing Ventress in—I—“  
“—Padmé—“  
“What is going on--what is going _on_ , Ben—“ he leans back, shakes her slightly, meets her eyes and takes a deep breath when he sees the tears on her face.  
“Padmé. Listen to me.” He strokes her face with a light hand, “Things are stabilizing. It’s going to be okay.” She swats his wrist, brow knitting.  
“You don’t know that!” she snaps, “What the fuck is going on, Ben—Krell was one thing, but Fives? And Ventress is going away for a long, long time if she gets caught. Even I couldn’t save her if that happens.” Her lips tremble but she needs answers, “and Anakin, I—“  
He goes very still.  
“Anakin?”  
She swallows.  
“Ahsoka—Ahsoka,” she sniffs, trying to think straight, “she texted me, last week. She said—she said she had photos,” she swallows, shaking her head up at him, “photos of Anakin with someone from Crimson Dawn.”  
“What?”  
“She said she didn’t have details, I—“  
“Ahsoka told you this?” She nods. “Have you talked to her since?”  
“No.”  
He’s quiet. Her fingers curl into the sleeves of his shirt, cuffed at his elbows. He studies her face.  
“Padmé,” his voice is low, and he takes her chin gently, watching her with sharp observance in his eyes. “Has he done something?” She swallows, thinks of the outbursts. Shakes her head.  
“I don’t—I don’t _know_ , Ben. _I don’t know_.” He pulls her close, shaking his head.  
“No, darling. I mean to _you_.”  
“ _No!_ ” She nearly gasps, “no—he— _no!_ ” She shakes her head, “no—“ she wants to say, _‘he wouldn’t do that’_. _‘He wouldn’t hurt me’._ But there is fear in her, and the words don’t come. Tears take their place.  
“Shh,” he holds her tight again and rests a warm hand on her hair. She can feel his nose on the crown of her head and her arms lock around him. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says quietly, and she hears the edge to the words. She hears the unspoken threat that comes with the alternative, feels it in his arms around her. If she _hadn’t_ been safe, if she _hadn’t_ been all right, if she’d told him anything different…  
She draws her head back and he kisses her, kisses her, like he wants to drown in her or she wants to drown in him, she isn’t sure—she just knows the moment their lips meet she’s missed this, missed _him_ , no matter how terrible all of this is and how wrong this is and how _dangerous_ this has become. He cradles her to himself like she’s something precious and they’ve never…never said the words, never said any of it out loud, but it’s there, it’s here, it’s right now in his hands that stroke her hair and cradle her head, his arms that hold her tight and his lips on hers, soft and warm and biting and needy. She’s past the point of denying it’s existence in herself, past refusing to acknowledge it—now it’s become near impossible to _hold in_ , and she can’t say the words but she can feed it to him on her tongue and bury it into his skin on her fingertips. She threads it into his hair, paints it onto his face, down his neck and shoulders and presses it into his chest, to his heart. _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ fingertips and lips and sighs, never in those words but understood, savored, cherished between them. _I love you, even if I shouldn’t. I love you, even if I can’t. I love you, in spite of it all._ They won’t speak them but they feel them and that is enough. It has to be.  
He takes her face in his hands and strokes stray hair away from her forehead.  
“Stay tonight,” he repeats, soft and imploring. “Please.”  
She knows right then that even if Anakin was waiting, she wouldn’t leave.

______________________________________________

She doesn’t forget her anger with him as her blouse hits the floor and his pants follow. Not when they move together onto an unfamiliar mattress that he spreads her over and sheets they’ll wrap themselves in when this is done and leave smelling like perfume and cologne and affection and betrayal. She doesn’t let him have control this first round, moves over him and holds his shoulders, presses him against the pillows and holds his gaze as she takes him in almost too slowly. She feels his hands at her hips, sees the little knit in his brow, the tension in his jaw and she inhales through her nose, stopping just short of seating herself on his thighs,  
“You made me wait,” she breathes out, “much longer than _this_.”  
His hands frame her ribcage and he almost laughs, but she takes that final inch and they both groan, hunching forward till their foreheads meet and her hair falls around them as if to give them privacy. He takes her face in his hands when she starts to move, slowly, _slowly_ , but so very sweet—her hands still on his shoulders and her forehead pressed to his as his lips chase hers.  
“You _waited_ ,” he murmurs, as if it’s some wonder, breathes _darling_ against her mouth and dapples her face with kisses. “You _waited_.”  
“I wanted—I didn’t know—“ she gasps for breath, hips stuttering just that right way and making her hiss desperately, clinging to her frustrations and to him, “—didn’t know where you were, if—if you were alive, dead—“ He noses at her cheek, stroking her hair with hands whose acts she chooses not to think on, resigned to the dark part of her heart she’s given herself for him.  
“I’m here.” He kisses her nose, kisses her chin, kisses her lips, “I’m right here.”  
_But for how long,_ she wonders, arms wrapping around his neck, _how long, how long._

______________________________________________

Somehow there is peace.  
The weeks that follow seem so impossibly calm that she forgets the storms that always follow—until thunder rumbles in the distance, and clouds start to gather on the horizon.  
Three tests. A doctor’s confirmation.  
A baby.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gathering clouds on the horizon.

She knows, when the doctor gives her more clarity on the situation, that she has to do something.   
She doesn’t want to go home but likewise she doesn’t want to go anywhere else; and not being home will seem strange—so she calls Dormé and Sabé and asks them over for dinner.  
Things are normal. This is normal. She and her friends, Anakin coming home to them and smiling like she hasn’t seen him do in weeks. She drinks tea, avoids the lapsang, says nothing. She eyes the wine, and thinks.

______________________________________________  
  


He leaves two days later.  
She gets a very early call while she’s having her morning coffee at her desk before real official hours start and everything is still quiet.  
“I’ll be out of the country a while,” he tells her, “impromptu vacation.” Which means it’s absolutely not that, and she would be angry but she isn’t sure what she feels at all right now. She wants to see him but she’s afraid of seeing him, and Anakin has noticed some things recently.  
“I’ll pretend I’m not hearing that,” she says quietly. Then, “Why did you call?”  
“I won’t hear your early-morning voice for a while.”  
She shuts her eyes and tries to pretend the note of sincerity in his voice doesn’t make her heart constrict.

______________________________________________

  
He’s away over a month.  
She has to tell Anakin. Morning sickness hasn’t been as bad as she was afraid it might be, but it persists, and finally she has to tell him what she’s been staving off. He looks stunned, but then happy—happier than she’s seen him in a long, long time now. For days after, she wishes this could be life now, and silently hopes that the baby growing inside of her is his.

______________________________________________  
  


It’s been two and a half months by the time she gets a text from him again.  
She doesn’t know what to do. She hasn’t gone public about her pregnancy yet and things have been so _good_ with Anakin—except...except when they aren’t.  
He says he’s having nightmares, nightmares about her, about the baby. About them being taken away from him, about her dying. It frightens her even just a little because of how adamant he is—“They’re only dreams, Ani,” she tells him in the night, but he holds her too-tight.  
“I won’t let them become reality. I won’t let anything take you away from me.”  
It makes her shudder. But the text comes, and she feels heartsick.  
She looks down at herself in the mirror as she sets her phone on the bathroom counter, and rests a hand over the small slope already forming in her abdomen.

______________________________________________  
  


She hasn’t responded to his texts in a week. Anakin’s been busy with work and if she’s honest, she’s grateful for that right now—but she’s deleted more texts than she wants to think about. She does think about them, though. About the person sending them. Still, she doesn’t reply, and deletes them anyways.

______________________________________________  
  


It’s the morning she declines a call that something finally happens.

There’s a ruckus outside her office suddenly; it’s been a quiet morning barring the rejected call and she’s at her desk studying an older case file when her phone starts buzzing and on the other side of her door she can hear Dormé loudly talking to someone. A glance at her phone says it’s all text messages—and from different people—and Dormé’s voice comes louder and louder.  
“—Can’t just walk in like this she’s not expecting any clients today an—“  
The door to her office opens enough that she can see Dormé trying to wave her hands and stop this, and then shuts again, leaving her alone in her office with Ben Kenobi.

Outside she can hear Dormé still trying to yell, but she’s so stuck staring at him in shock that it barely registers when her assistant gets the door open finally.  
“Padme, do I need to call someone?” But finally District Attorney Amidala shakes her head slowly.  
“No—no, it’s fine Dormé. It’s fine. Just field any calls for a little while.” Dormé gives her a look that says she’s seconds away from speed-dialing Anakin, and she shakes her head. “It’s all right, Dormé.” For his part, Ben never takes his eyes off of her and strolls further into the office towards her desk.  
“I’m only here to talk to the nice DA for a minute,” he says loudly enough for Dormé to hear, “and by now she knows I’m not stupid enough to try anything...untoward...in broad daylight.” Padmé makes a face at this, but nods at Dormé again, and finally the other woman shuts the door.

There’s a moment of silence and then,  
“You’re avoiding me?”  
She takes a breath, turning to the windows behind her desk and trying to not hear the hurt tone in his voice.  
“You shouldn’t be here right now—“  
“It’s been over a week since I got back, and not even a ‘not tonight’.” He’s crossed the room, but still gives her space even if his voice is low and hesitant. “What’s going on?” She’s folded her arms over her chest and grips at her elbows, willing her fingers not to tremble.  
“Ben you shouldn’t be here—Dormé’s probably telling him right now and ther—“  
“Then let her tell him, I don’t care!” She rounds on him and he’s closer than she realized, blue eyes roaming her face, down her collar, searching—his hands hover. His eyes say he spoke hastily but he’s upset all the same and she wonders in that small moment when things shifted this much, when things went from ‘nothing personal’ to whatever this is right now between them. And it is between them—because she feels it too.  
“Ben,” she says, low and warning, but he sees her knuckles going pale and his brow furrows.  
“Something happened. What’s wrong?” He does get closer now, close enough to test the waters and reach for her. She hesitates, and his eyes widen slightly and then narrow. _“What did he do?”_  
“Ben, no—“  
“What did he do? Did he hurt you—“  
“No—Ben it isn’t like that—“ she’s backed up a step and when she bumps her desk he doesn’t pursue, giving her space but still staring down into her brown eyes.  
“I came here in person to see that you were all right,” he says quietly, and she knows what he means without the clarification. “Tell me why you wouldn’t respond. Tell me why you wouldn’t even take the call this morning. I’ve been gone three months—if something has changed...” He swallows, she can see his jaw twitch slightly and his throat constrict, “I deserve to hear it, at least.”  
Her breath hitches and she feels her heart pounding, all of the worries and stressors and fears from the past few months flooding back.  
“I—“ she wants to tell him, she _needs_ to tell him, she’s **afraid** to tell him—  
“Padmé talk to me.” His eyes are imploring, “If you want this to end I want to hear it from you.” There’s something dark in his expression, however, “But if there’s something else...I want you to tell me.”  
“I’m pregnant.”

It slices through the air and he stumbles back a step like she’s struck him. Her heart is pounding so hard she feels like he can hear it and it’s making it hard to breathe. He stares at her for a long moment.  
“Pregnant.” He repeats, and she almost can’t stand to hear it on his tongue. “How...how long?” She swallows.  
“A few months.”  
“Whose?”

The question bites her, and she looks away, finally admitting the truth out loud:  
“I don’t know.”

Silence.

“What do you want to do?” He asks quietly, watching her but not approaching. She wishes he would. She understands.  
“I-I don’t....know,” she swallows, allowing herself this honesty with him. “But...Anakin knows.” She wets her lips, hands holding the edge of her desk to steady herself. “He noticed things, I...I had to tell him.” Her eyes shut tightly and she feels tears stinging, “I’m so tired of _lying_ , I’m so tired of it,” she chokes out, shaking her head, “I’m tired of lying to him, I’m tired of being afraid,” she gasps softly, holding in a sob, “I’ve turned into this person that I-I don’t even know anymore—this awful person—“  
“You aren’t an awful person,” he speaks up finally, taking a few steps closer again. She shakes her head, though, struggling to hold her tears in.  
“Yes, I am—I _am_ , Ben—“ she looks up at him and feels tears track down her cheeks before he takes her face in his hands.  
“No, you aren’t, Padmé.” He leans close, shushes her when she tries to tearfully protest again, “You aren’t, darling. You’re a good person.” he strokes her face, swipes her tears away with his thumbs, and she wishes she didn’t want this so badly, wishes she didn’t want _him_ so badly. “You are. We all make mistakes.”  
She’s made so, so many. Too many. She looks up into his eyes and her heart aches in her chest because _god_ , she’s done so many things wrong, she’s made so many mistakes, but she can’t believe that this— _he_ —is one of them.

“We—we should stop this,” she whispers, but her hands find his and rest on top of them, and she can’t let go. His brow furrows just slightly and she sees hurt, but also resignation, acceptance, in his blue eyes.  
“Is that what you want?” She feels fresh tears fall as she leans into his touch.  
“No.”

______________________________________________  
  


She’s tidying herself up, trying to blot her face and tie back her hair after he’s left her office—her nose is still a bit pink but it’ll fade, just so long as she can breathe normally again.  
Her phone buzzes.  
And buzzes again.  
And again, and again—until there’s nothing but the notification banner and a number are on her lockscreen. She almost has time to open it to look but then Sabé AND Dormé are at her door, bursting in together.  
“Padmé—“  
“I didn't think he’d be here that fast—“  
“—Outside, god you better get downstairs before something happens—“ She’s already rushing past them, though, heart beating against her ribs.  
Shit. Shit _shit **shit.**_

______________________________________________  
  


The lobby is mostly empty, thank god, and she rushes outside past the few interlopers watching the gathering storm outside.   
Ben Kenobi is on the sidewalk in front of the building in his vest and his buttondown and his slacks, blazer over his arm, sunglasses in place over his hair, casually facing a positively glowering Anakin Skywalker in his uniform and holster, his partner Rex still hanging back near their squad car.  
“—Know what you’re playing at, but you have **NO** business anywhere _near_ her—“ she can hear her husband raising his voice as she shoves through the front doors.  
“Anakin!” She’s hurriedly striding onto the sidewalk towards him and immediately the air changes. Anakin’s focus shifts completely to her and he gathers her into his arms the minute she’s close enough, taking her by the shoulders and looking her over as if she’d just escaped capture.  
“Padmé—are you all right? I got a text from Dormé—is everything all right, did he—“  
“Anakin, stop,” she shakes her head, placing her hands on his chest gently. She can feel ben’s eyes on her, and keeps Anakin’s attention. “Stop—I’m fine, I’m fine Ani. Everything’s fine. Dormé just got worried, she didn’t think you would come all the way over here—“  
“—Of course I would. You’re my priority, Padmé, you know that!”  
“Honey—Ani—“ she swallows, seeing that edge in his eyes again and shaking her head some, her brow knitting slightly. “It’s _okay_. If I were in trouble don’t you think I would have called you myself?” His eyes narrow some.  
“Not really.” He almost smiles. “You have a bad habit of trying to handle things on your own. Dormé knows that too.” She sighs.  
“Anakin…you can’t just leave work like this to come here for nothing,” she frowns some, and he rests a hand on her cheek.  
“It’s not nothing. It’s you,” he rests a hand on her stomach and her heart drops a little, “and our baby now too. I’m going to keep you safe.” She sees his blue eyes flick back to the man over her shoulder, who she wishes so much had just walked away when he had the chance. “That includes from people like him.”

She tries to keep her expression entirely neutral. She imagines she’s in court, where she has to be impassive.  
In court, she’s not in her husband’s protective arms.  
Ben looks relaxed enough, but she can see it—the tension in his jaw, in his arms. But Ben isn’t Anakin. Ben won’t react the way she knows her husband wishes he would.  
“He’s leaving, Anakin,” she hears herself say—because she’s too focused on Ben’s eyes to really focus on much else. “He only came to talk.” She feels Anakin’s hand grip a bit more firmly on her shoulder, feels his body press against her back.  
“What could he _possibly_ have to talk to you about?” There’s anger in his voice, venom. She knows that question is more directed at him than her, and she sees Ben heave a small sigh.  
“I can’t call on an old friend?” He’s being deliberately glib and she feels her lips form a line, wishing she could tell him to get out of here. Behind her, Anakin glares.  
“‘An old friend’.”  
“That’s what we are, after all.” Ben shifts his weight on his feet a bit and opens his arms some. “And you and I as well, I suppose. I’d certainly like to say it’s good seeing you again too, Anakin.”  
“You’ve seen her plenty in the past few years,” Anakin growls, and Padmé’s heart seizes up until he elaborates, “in _court_. You don’t have any business in her office or anywhere near her.”  
“Anakin, please,” she says quietly, trying to breathe again, having to look away from Ben’s eyes, but he ignores her.  
“You and your people keep the hell away from her, Kenobi,” he snarls, “or _so help me—_ “  
“Of course,” Ben taps his glasses back into place over his eyes, giving a bow of his head. “Where would the fun be in this business if I didn’t have my favorite adversary anymore?”  
He turns on his heel and strolls to where a car’s waiting for him, and Padmé rests a hand on Anakin’s to stop any movements he might have even thought of making.

______________________________________________  
  


Anakin stays in with her for two days. She says she’s taking a few mental health days—she doesn’t say that they’re more for _him_ than they are for her.

______________________________________________  
  


The return to work is quiet. She’s glad for the distraction, really; but more than that she’s glad for a few hours to herself to think about things.  
She loves her husband. She _does_ , she knows she does.  
She does not love his possessiveness, does not love his anger.   
She does not love the fear she feels when she knows he’s in a poor mood.   
She does not love lying to him.  
She does not love this uncertainty.  
She does not love that their marriage and her pregnancy, now, seem to be sending his emotional state into decline.  
She does not know what to do.

______________________________________________  
  


_Will you come?_  
The text feels different this time. Less certainty, less confidence. This is not his usual time and place, not his alert of a driver for her.  
This is a hopeful entreaty.   
_Tomorrow,_ she sends back, _send a car tomorrow night_.

______________________________________________  
  


He’s hesitant when he sees her again, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch her, like she might be fragile now, or else set off some kind of alarm. It stings her, but she knows, she knows why he’s behaving this way.  
“Ben,” she whispers, walking into his arms, “hold me. Please.” And so he does.

______________________________________________  
  


“You can’t come to the firm that way again,” she murmurs against his jaw as he unhooks her bra. He noses at her hairline, nodding slightly.  
“I know,” he sighs softly, hands running down her arms as he pushes the straps away from her shoulders. “I won’t,” he reassures her, and reaches up to stroke her face. “I was worried about you.”  
“I know,” she turns to kiss his palm, “I know you were. But...if he sees you when I can’t be there to stop him...” She holds his hand against her face. “Don’t risk that.”

He’s gotten her panties down her legs and leans back up over her to hover over the small swell of her belly.  
“Are you keeping it?” He meets her eyes, a hand resting light and careful on her growing baby bump.  
“I think I am.”  
She watches, transfixed, as he lowers his head and kisses her stomach.  
“You’ll be a good mother,” he says, and eases up over her again. She looks hesitant, uncertain, adoring.  
“Does this...bother you?” He reaches up, strokes her hair, and she sees it in his eyes when he dips to kiss her, tucks her legs around his waist.  
“No.”

______________________________________________  
  


They lie in the afterglow for a while, this time. She stays on her side but facing him, damp curls sticking to her here and there. He watches her in the dim light and strokes her face, and then her stomach. She rests a hand on his and gazes down at her belly for a long moment like that before meeting his eyes.  
“Ben...” Her fingers curl around his. “Soon I have to be public about this. And I’m...I’m already...” He lifts her hand to kiss her knuckles softly.  
“You’re beautiful.” He drapes an arm around her and sweeps her in against him. “You’re absolutely beautiful.” She smiles a little at this, resting her head against his shoulder.  
“I might not be able to do this in a few months.” Her smile fades. “I’ll be so big—and tired, probably...” Her expression darkens. “And he’s already being this protective, I...” She swallows, thinking of how tight his arms were after these nightmares he was having. Thinking of how the look in his eyes sometimes was not the man she’d fallen in love with, not the man she’d married. All of the anger and jealousy in him that seemed only amplified by her pregnancy.  
He leans back, meets her eyes.  
“You’re afraid of him.”   
She looks away.  
“He...he isn’t himself lately.” His hand is on her face, getting her to look at him. He looks worried, angry even.  
“Padmé, tell me what’s going on.”

______________________________________________  
  


She announces her pregnancy to the firm and her friends and family the next week. There’s congratulations from everyone, they even throw her a little party at the firm.  
She leaves that night and narrowly misses being shot.

______________________________________________  
  


Anakin isn’t letting her leave their apartment. She’s had to be very careful with her contact to Ben, but Anakin leaves for work and she manages a phone call. They don’t know who tried to shoot her, but by now they know it was deliberate. He swears to her he’ll get answers on their call, tells her to stay indoors a while.  
“I know you won’t,” he adds, his voice softening finally, “but as a favor to me, consider it.” She sighs, and he adds, “and Padmé...” she pauses, waiting for him to continue. He’s quieter, lower. “...If anything happens there, you will call me.”  
It’s her office that gets ransacked next.

______________________________________________  
  


She’s losing her mind staying inside like this—and to make things worse she’s dealing with some lingering sickness and hitting pregnancy markers that...that she doesn’t want to be alone for. She feels what her doctor describes as ‘quickening’—the baby moving about in her womb. The days pass and it gets more and more dramatic, more and more real, and even Sabé, Dormé, Anakin—they can feel it sometimes if they touch. Sabé and Dormé visit her in what feels like shifts; they go with her to doctor appointments and do any shopping for her, and she hates it.  
“I know, Adi,” they sigh in the living room, all three of them settled on the sofas. “But he’s worried about you. It’s…it’s coming from a good place.” Padmé can only sigh. She looks at them when she gets a text and wishes she could tell her best, oldest friends what’s going on, but she stays silent.  
 _The baby’s moving,_ she sends back. _I wish you could feel_.

______________________________________________  
  


It’s been three weeks and she’s at her limit.  
“I can’t stand this!” She snarls to herself while Dormé’s out at the store and she’s been left alone, grabbing up her phone and heading for the door. “I’m going out for a coffee, and some fresh air! It’s broad daylight!” And that’s that.  
She calls him when she’s on the sidewalk, away from her building.  
He picks up almost immediately, and she feels a flutter in her chest.  
“Are you all right?” Quick, worried, hopeful.  
“I’m okay,” she says, voice soft and close to the phone. She can’t stop the smile hearing him again, and when he replies and she can hear the smile in his voice it makes her throat tighten, her heart swell.  
“It’s good to hear your voice again.”  
“…Yours too,” she whispers. “I miss you, Ben.” It’s her hormones, it…they’re overwhelming right now. It’s her hormones, making tears prick her eyes and her face feel warm.  
“I miss you too, darling.” But then a pause, and, “…Where are you right now?” She hesitates. Sighs, finally.  
“I came out to get coffee,” she sniffs, “I’m going stir-crazy in that apartment all the time and nothing else has happened—“  
“You’re by yourself? Where are Dormé and Sabé—do they know? Does Anakin know?” She frowns.  
“I’m fine! Starbucks is _right there_ —I can _see_ it from where I’m standing right now!”  
“That’s not the point,” she knows he’s trying to be patient with her, “Where are they right now?” She huffs a little, waiting on the corner while she talks to him.  
“Dormé’s at the grocery. Anakin’s working late; Sabé is at the office,” she rattles off. “I just wanted fresh air. I can’t stand being cooped up.” He’s quiet and she knows he’s thinking, she can see him run a hand over his bearded chin right now in her mind’s eye.  
“You’re near the Starbucks down the street from your complex?” Her brow knits slightly.  
“Yeah, I told you I didn’t go far—“  
“Stay there.”  
“…Where are _you_ right now?” But she doesn’t have to wonder about thirty seconds later, because she sees his white car down the street suddenly and nearly drops her phone.

______________________________________________  
  


They drive out of the city. It’s just the two of them in the car and she knows this is a stupid, impulsive thing for both of them to do but she’s been in that apartment for weeks and god she needs a change of scenery. He holds her hand across the center console and she tells him about doctor visits, about health updates.  
“Sometimes I can feel him moving,” she says softly, rubbing her swollen belly affectionately. He raises an eyebrow, small smile on his face as he glances over at her while driving.  
“‘Him’?” She lets out a quiet breath, smile still in place.  
“I think it’s a boy. I told the doctors not to tell me—my parents did the same, and my sister too. But I know it’s a boy.” He squeezes her hand gently, thumb rubbing at her skin idly.  
“You don’t want a girl?”  
“I would be happy with either,” she says, “but I think this is going to be a boy.” She hunches over in her seat just a little, cradling her baby bump in one arm and lacing her fingers with his hand. “I’ll love you no matter what,” she tells the baby inside, “all that really matters is that you’re safe and healthy.”  
“The doctor says things are all right so far, though?” She nods, squeezing his hand now.  
“They say everything looks fine.” She feels his fingers curl around hers and she knows he wants to say more, but understands the reservation in him. She doesn’t press. She wishes things were different.  
“Has he been…all right?” He asks at length, his voice low and quiet. She takes a breath.  
“He has the nightmares, still,” she tells him quietly. “And he’s paranoid lately.”  
“You can hardly blame him for that.”  
“I know,” she says, sighing. “But he isn’t _healthy_. He barely sleeps, he looks tired so often…and sometimes…sometimes I look at him and it’s like I don’t recognize him. Sometimes I wonder if he recognizes me anymore.”  
“Have you talked to him about this?” He asks. “Have you told him you’re worried?”  
“He gets—he gets _angry_ ,” she shakes her head, recalling the fury in his face, the strange sort of betrayal she saw in his eyes. “Like he can’t admit he’s struggling, like he can’t see how much he’s changed.” She gazes out the window, sad and tired and uncertain. “We’ve _both_ changed, now.” She says quietly. “God, if two years ago anyone had told me all of this, I wouldn’t have believed any of it.”  
“People change,” he says beside her, finally. “Such is life, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well so much for this being a one/two/three-shot  
> i have absolutely no self control and this was GOING to be the last chapter but it got so long and i still had more to go over...so now there's a question mark. :T


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the hours just before dawn._

Anakin is suspicious.

After she comes home one night in an Uber car, things...shift.  
He checks in often. Insists on coming to her doctor appointments now, but she manages to temper that some with his work schedule. He asks who she’s talking to when she’s on her phone. She knows he’s checking her messages, or at the very least trying to.  
She’s afraid. She makes sure to delete her calls, her texts, and keeps contact to a minimum with anyone that isn’t Dormé or Sabé.

______________________________________________  
  


The baby starts to kick.  
Padmé is startled at first but then overjoyed—she has the girls, Anakin, feel her stomach.   
“A little fighter,” Anakin says, rubbing her belly fondly. His eyes are bagged by dark circles and she sees something strange and manic in his gaze. It’s disquieting.  
She lays on the sofa and records a video of the small, almost undetectable movements of her stomach while Anakin’s working a late shift. She sends it to one number, and then deletes it.

______________________________________________  
  


Things take a turn.  
She’s healthy, and going out here and there again even while on leave from the firm; but she’s being followed.  
Anakin’s moods are worse, _darker_ , at home. She sees him watching her when they’re together and there is doubt, suspicion, _possession_ in his eyes. He has fits, and largely she can calm him, but it frightens her—and she doesn’t need this stress on top of her strange stalker.  
Ahsoka texts her again. She hasn’t heard from her since the congratulatory call about her pregnancy.  
_Something is up, Padme. I talked to him on the phone last week, he doesn’t seem like himself. He’s been in contact with people working close with Maul; one of them is like a right hand. This is more than three times I've seen him with this guy in particular, and I know there are bodies that haven’t been reported. I don’t know how many came from him.  
_  
_Is he working with these people now?_ She can’t fathom he would—she can’t think that of him, she just can’t.  
  
_I can’t tell you much more than all this, I’m sorry. I wish I knew more.  
  
_Maul. Of all people, Maul? There was a time when he would have done anything to fight _against_ Maul simply because of the one person Maul seemed to hate more than anyone else—the one person Padmé knows might be able to help her right now with whoever is following her. She compartmentalizes. One problem at a time.  
She sends him a single text about it.  
_I’ll take care of it,_ he sends back, and nothing more.

______________________________________________  
  


Anakin has another fit, one evening. She tries to calm him down, but a moment comes where he nearly strikes her.  
He doesn’t. He has more control even in his rage, but the instance happens, and they’re both left in shock.  
Padmé leaves. She takes up her phone and her clutch and she leaves, shutting the door on his rushed apologies behind her.

______________________________________________  
  


She rents a room in a hotel across town. She doesn’t want to tell anyone about this—it wasn’t him, that wasn’t him, _she knows it wasn’t him..._  
She sits on the wide, empty, hotel bed and cries all the same.

______________________________________________  
  


She stays in bed the next day. It’s raining; she doesn’t have anything to do and she knows if she goes to her office Anakin will end up showing up there. She has unread messages from him when she wakes up and turns her phone over, burrowing into the stiff hotel quilt.  
She doesn’t want to go home.  
She doesn’t want to talk to him right now, even if there’s some part of her that thinks she should.  
She doesn’t want to tell the girls about this.  
Her hand hovers over her phone for a moment, and she hears a rumble of thunder in the distance, as if on cue. He told her to tell him if anything happened, but it scares her to think of what he might do, what _Anakin_ might do, what might come of this.  
Her hand withdraws, and she falls asleep again with tears in her eyes.

______________________________________________  
  


The next day she agrees to meet Anakin for lunch.  
She wants to hold out longer but she’s upset, she’s _tired_ , she doesn’t want to be alone right now, and she feels that she owes him at least a conversation. There’s a voice in the back of her mind telling her she doesn’t owe him anything, but she muffles it.  
He’s already sitting when she gets to the café; he pulls her chair out for her and chances a hesitant kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t lean in either. They sit. Order drinks. She asks about work, and they order.  
“Padmé...I’m sorry,” he says immediately, once they’re alone again, and his face is tired and sincere. “I’m sorry—you know I would never—that I _could never_ —“  
“Anakin…” she says softly, gazing at the table, “I know…I know that wasn’t…” She takes a deep breath, feels the baby fluttering around inside of her from all of her anxiety. She exhales, and meets his eyes. “You’ve been so _angry_ lately. So _out_ of things—“ He opens his mouth and she stops him. “I know you don’t want to talk about this. You haven’t, every time I’ve tried. But things are…they aren’t what they should be,” she sighs softly. “I just…want to understand what’s going on.” She shakes her head, thinking of Ahsoka’s texts, the photos, the cryptic information. Crimson Dawn. Maul. “What is happening, Anakin?”  
“I’m working on making things better,” he says in a low voice, a fierceness in his blue eyes that chills her even in the warm outdoor air. “I’m fixing things in this city. I’m making sure you, and our baby, will be safe.” She just watches him for a long moment, and thinks she has a very bad feeling about this.

______________________________________________  
  


He texts, twice.  
Once to say he’s possibly found some information about whoever’s been after her, twice to ask if she’s all right.  
She says she’ll call later.

______________________________________________  
  


She goes back home that night. Anakin works until morning hours, and she’s up for coffee when he comes in. They pass one another in the kitchen. He seems surprised to see her there again, but then pleased. He leans for a kiss, and she allows it.  
There is something in the back of her mind wondering when their love became _this_.  
There is something wondering when she stopped feeling so _in love_ with her husband.

______________________________________________  
  


She has a doctor’s appointment. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a check-up. Things are fine; she goes on her own, even, since it should be brief—and it is. She texts him on the way there, tells him maybe she can call afterwards. Everything looks normal, healthy; the OB advises her to relax more, that’s all. She wants to laugh at that advisory, but nods, and leaves.  
Outside, she pulls out her phone, and a car swerves quickly up to the curb as she does. There’s nearly no time to think before one of the dark windows rolls down and she’s staring down a silencer on a gun barrel. She almost screams, but there’s another shot close by, and she crumples to the ground out of shock, fear, covering her head and cradling her stomach. A hand is on her arm and getting her to her feet, and she hears wheels screeching, horns sounding off, as the car speeds off again.  
“Padmé—“ she’s being pulled off the sidewalk, held close and ushered towards another car. She resists it, breathing heavy and feeling her heart pounding, trying to push at her new assailant—until he takes her face in his hands a moment to help calm her down. “Padmé,” says Ben, in that soft voice he uses when they’re alone, “Breathe, darling. It’s me. Get in the car, quickly.”  
She almost collapses into his arms on the curb, but manages to let him help her into the backseat of his car.

______________________________________________  
  


He’s holding her tight in the backseat while Cody drives them this time. She’s calming down—this isn’t the first time she’s had a gun pointed at her and if she does her job right she knows it won’t be the last, but right now…  
Her arm is still around the swell of her belly, and she feels his hand find hers, feels the warm press of his palm over her knuckles. This was too close.  
“Ben,” she’s trying to catch her breath, burying her face against his shoulder. “Ben, Ben—“ and he smoothes down her hair, rubs her back, her stomach.  
“Breathe, love. Breathe. You’re all right. I’ve got you, you’re all right.” She feels comfort in his arms, in his voice, in the press of his nose against her hair and his hands on her.  
“Ben who—what was—“ she shakes her head, swallowing hard. He grows a bit still, holding her close but taking a long moment to think.  
“What we think right now,” he says finally, “is that this is someone trying to lash out at Anakin.” She shuts her eyes.  
“I think you’re right.” His hand takes one of hers and holds it tightly, his expression rather grave.  
“Some of Maul’s people are being picked off. Two days ago, one of his head runners turned up dead—and we had nothing to do with it. Still, there was next to nothing going around about the whole thing. Padmé, do you know _anything_ about what he’s doing?” She settles on the seat next to him, shaking her head some and swallowing hard. She’s deleted Ahsoka’s texts already, but she remembers all those photos.  
“No. But Ahsoka is worried. All I can tell you is what she’s told me.”

______________________________________________  
  


He paces his apartment while she rests on the sofa. She’s calmed down and he’s gotten her some tea—and the familiar taste is doing more for her nerves than she might admit.  
“I know who these people are,” he rattles off, “the ones you’re describing from the photos. I don’t know what Ahsoka’s gotten herself into, but she’s likely in danger now as well if she’s getting mixed up in this.” For a moment he sounds like the mentor she could remember him being to Anakin and Ahsoka both, frazzled and exasperated at their endless energy and penchant for troublemaking. This is a much more dire situation, however, and it shows in his expression as he runs a hand over his beard.  
“She might be, but I’m sure she knows that too. Ahsoka’s grown up,” she reaches for him when he passes by the sofa again, and he lets her draw him down to sit with her, concern still etched on his brow. “Sometimes I think you forget she’s not the rookie partner anymore.” Her voice is fond as she strokes a bit of stray hair out of his eyes and runs her fingertips over his cheek. “Talk to me,” she coaxes gently, “tell me what you’re thinking.” And so he does.  
“Of the people you’ve mentioned, four are dead. They all report directly to Maul, but with them gone his grip is loosening. On top of that, all of the goods they had stored, everything they were pushing or transporting for him, everything is gone. Someone was funding him, but this time I don’t think they’re bailing him out. If Anakin has anything to do with this...” She nods slowly.  
“...Of course they would try and hit a weak spot for him.” Ben gives her a wry smile.  
“I would hesitate to call _you_ weak, Ms. Amidala, but then I’ve been on the wrong end of your jurisdiction.” She sighs softly, but her brow furrows.  
“I’m a hell of a target. His wife and the District Attorney.” Ben nods, his expression grave.  
“That too. This is a 'two birds one stone' situation for them, without a doubt.” She takes a deep breath, digesting this. “Whoever is tailing you is likely the same person, or working with them. All this boils down to is that Anakin’s managed to make enemies of the wrong people.”  
She sighs, looking at the floor sadly. She’s worried about him. She knows he won’t tell her anything, she knows she’s wronged him too much already on her own, but she’s worried all the same. He senses it, takes her hand.  
“I’ll look into things further,” he says softly, and she sees an old hurt in his somber eyes. “He was still my brother, once.”

______________________________________________  
  


Maul is dead.  
There is press upon press upon press covering it; _‘gang motivated’, ‘kenobi suspected’, ‘Crimson Dawn leaderless’._

______________________________________________  
  


She doesn’t see Anakin for days after that. He’s working, he tells her, stay inside and rest. She’s tired; pregnancy is taking more of a toll on her these days, and her due date looms closer and closer. She’s still a few months off, but she finds herself worrying more and more, not helped by the fact that she’s been almost killed more than once now. 

  
But then comes the text from Ahsoka.

  
_Someone sent me these. If I have them, then so does Anakin. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m giving you this warning._  
She sends images, and Padmé’s heart drops.  
Photos taken of she and Ben, on a deserted curb outside of her doctor’s office. Her face in his hands, her hands on his shirt. They’re from the day with the attempted drive-by, but without context...  
_Tell Ben,_ she sends back, with his number. _He was worried about you too, just let him know. Thank you, Ahsoka._

_I will. Just…be safe, Padmé._

She doesn’t have time to react; she wants to call Ben herself but the baby starts to kick hard enough to knock the air out of her momentarily. She has to sit, cradles her stomach, catches her breath and tries to calm the baby—she knows it’s her stress. She’s around seven months in and _tired_ and she knows she can’t keep doing this, not if she wants her baby to be healthy but this...she hears a key in the door and it feels like there’s a weight on her chest.

______________________________________________  
  


He comes in like a hurricane. She barely has the presence of mind to even look for her phone before he storms into the living room in a fury—but this is not his normal heated rage. This is silent, cold, fury, and that terrifies her.  
He stalks into the room and somehow it’s like a great shadow comes with him, chilling her to the bone. She knows, in an instant, that _he_ knows.  
“Where were you when you went out, last week?” She tries to remain neutral.  
“I went to my OB appointment, like I told you on the phone.”  
“And after?” He’s advanced another step on her.  
“After...” she takes a breath. “There was—there was an incident.”  
“An _incident?_ ” He sounds disbelieving.  
“There was—there was a car, someone had a gun, I—“  
“ _Someone?_ ”  
“I didn’t see their face.”  
“And you didn’t tell me. Why.”  
“You’ve been working, and I—“  
“This ‘someone’...they didn’t shoot?” Something in her snaps to attention at this, and her whole body stills.  
“Anakin...” but he doesn’t budge. She shakes her head. “No—they didn’t get the chance.”  
“Why.” It nearly cuts her off, sharp as a knife. She takes a deep breath, and realizes she’s trembling.  
“...Ben was there. He sh—“  
“Ben?”

He’s standing over her and his eyes are hard and cold, filled with a dark wrath that truly scares her. His voice is a low rumble.  
“Why was Ben Kenobi there?”  
“He—he was in the area, he saw me outside—“ She doesn’t truly know why he’d been around there but she assumes it was, in the end, to see her.  
“Is that all?” His tone is dangerous, the trap clearly laid for her to misstep so that he can catch her in this lie.  
“Anakin, I—it was a coincidence—“  
“ _Liar!_ ” Now his voice raises, and he paces away from her, digging his phone out. Her heart is racing and one hand props her up on the arm of the sofa while the other hand goes to her stomach. He’s rounded on her again, phone brandished so that she can see the images on his screen—but she knows what they are even without seeing at all. It’s just as well; her eyes are filling with tears. “ _Coincidence?_ This looks like more than a coincidence—“  
“Ani please—he saved my life, he was trying to calm me down—“  
“How long?” He shouts, leaning in frightfully close, staring her down. “ _How long, Padmé?_ ”  
She holds down a sob, knowing she’s entirely past the point of no return now.  
“Anakin I’m--I’m _sorry_ ,” she chokes out, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” but he’s turned away again and paces across the room, fists at his sides. She tries to catch her breath, wishing she could calm down. “We should have stopped. I should have told you sooner, I—“ she gasps softly, shuddering as the baby kicks and she feels another cry coming on, “—I knew this was wrong, I knew it should end and I—I never wanted to hurt you like this, I’ve been so selfish and so stupid—“ he rounds on her again.  
“Did he pressure you into this?” His demeanor changes, he seems like he’s just stumbled upon this conclusion and that this must be the clear answer. He strides towards her again, his tone demanding. “Did he push you into all of this?” Something about the way he says this makes her incredibly unsettled.  
“No—Anakin, I….no,” she shakes her head, shutting her eyes a moment. “No, he didn’t. I made my own mistakes, I can’t—“ his hands are on her shoulders and he looks manic again, that same edge she’s seen in his eyes so many times over the past few months. It feels like it’s on the edges of her periphery, but she can hear her phone vibrating on top of a magazine on the coffee table where she left it. She glances, only for a moment, and knows the number.  
“Ben is trying to turn you against me—to _use_ you against me. He thinks I’m working with Maul, Padmé,” he says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world, even though Maul is dead, “He’s _using_ you, don’t you see?” He rests a hand on her cheek and she feels fear welling up in her. “He’s going to hurt you to get to me, just like Maul did to Satine, to Quinn.” Padmé starts to back away from him, shaking her head, her brow furrowing.  
“Anakin—that’s not—that isn’t—“ but he pursues.  
“It _is_ , Padmé—he doesn’t _care_ , but he doesn’t know—Maul is dead, and Crimson Dawn is weak now. The other leaders are on _my_ side; with them I can make sure this city is _safe--_ I’ll have the power to make sure _you’re_ safe, and people like Ben Kenobi aren’t a threat anymore!”

Her breath seems to die in her throat.

“…What?” She whispers, eyes wide. “You…Anakin, you—you haven’t…you can’t be serious…”  
“This is for _us_ , Padmé—it’s to ensure we’re safe, that the _city_ is safe. And maybe more than that; I can build an _empire_ from this, bigger than Crimson Dawn, better than _anything_ Maul had in mind—“  
“Anakin, what are you _talking_ about?!” She wrenches away from him and the darkness is in his eyes again. “That’s not—you can’t _do_ something like that, that isn’t—“ she shakes her head, “This isn’t _you!_ ”  
“I can, and I am. I’ve been building strength and now with Maul gone, I can seize control.” She feels tears falling, her heart frozen in her chest. This isn’t him. This man, this…this _person_ in front of her isn’t the man she fell in love with. “Anakin, you’re a good person—don’t do this!”  
“I won’t lose you, not like I lost my mother. I told you: I won’t let anything take you away, won’t let anyone hurt you. All of this is for you. I’m more powerful than maul ever was, and I’ll become more powerful still than the people backing him. I can rule over all of this--I’d have everything in this city, even beyond it, under my control.” She feels a lump in her throat and knows this is not a battle she’ll win. Her phone is ringing again. Still, she can’t reach it.  
“I don’t…I can’t…believe this. Not from you.” She shakes her head, shifting and backing away, thinking only of getting out of the apartment. “I ignored it for so long, I…Ben didn’t want to believe it either. But you—you’ve _changed_ —“  
“I don’t want to hear anything else about _Ben_ ,” he spits the name like it’s acid in his mouth, following her. “He turned against me once. Don’t you do the same thing.” She feels her heart rate pick up.  
“I don’t know you anymore,” she coughs, trying not to cry. “We’ve both grown so far apart, but this—I never thought—“ she hiccups, and fresh tears fall. “You’re going down a path I can’t follow. I _won’t_ —“  
“Because of Ben?” Dangerous, predatory. He advances on her.  
“Because of the things you’ve done, the things you plan to _do!_ ” She cries angrily. “I made my mistakes, I’ll take responsibility for them! But you—I can’t do this. I can’t let you become this person, I won’t be part of what you’re intending to do!”  
He lunges, seizes her by the throat.

Everything seems to go fuzzy. She can’t breathe, her heart is racing, she can feel the baby moving about and she’s terrified for her child, for herself, about the fact that this is _really happening—_  
“How long have you been _lying_?” He hisses, and even over the roaring in her ears it sounds desperate. “ _How long??”_ But he isn’t easing up. Her hands grasp at his but his grip is stronger than hers, and she tries to lash out, but in the end it’s her phone that saves her.  
The unknown number pops up on her screen on the coffee table nearby, buzzing furiously on the glass table now. She knows the number, wishes right now she could reach it, but Anakin releases her and she goes to her knees, coughing and crying, the world around her hazy as she struggles to breathe again. She hears the buzzing stop, hears a crash, feels pain in her abdomen, in her chest. She thinks of the baby, writhing inside of her, and her vision goes black.

______________________________________________  
  


She wakes up in pain, the lights in the apartment on around her and voices above her. They’re familiar, she knows, but she can hardly breathe and when her eyes focus enough to let her see Ben’s face over her, she feels tears fill her eyes and spill over her cheeks.  
“Ben—Ben please— _the baby_ —“ she gasps, her throat still hurting. Something is _wrong_ , she can _feel_ it. His arms are around her and she’s wincing, groaning at the pain.  
“I’m getting you to a hospital,” she can hear him telling her hurriedly, “just hold on. It’s going to be all right.”  
She wants to believe him.

______________________________________________  
  


She fades in and out on the drive to the hospital. The one thing that remains static is his hand tight around hers.

______________________________________________  
  


Her throat is bruised, and her airway’s been compromised, but it will heal.  
The pain is unbearable—she realizes, as she’s screaming in the hospital bed, that the pains she felt earlier were contractions. There are nurses, doctors; she’s been over the labor plan so many times in her head and never once did she think it would turn out like _this_.  
It’s too _soon_ , she just _knows_ it, it’s too soon, what about the _baby_ —hazily, she thinks _what about Anakin_ , but the screams tear through her already damaged throat and the thoughts sequester themselves away for now.  
_You’re all right, darling,_ she can hear him telling her, letting her clutch his hand, _you’re going to be all right, you can do this._  
He’s always so frustratingly right about things.

______________________________________________  
  


Hours pass. The baby is in the NICU, in the end, and part of her is grateful for it, right this moment, as she clings to Ben in the hospital bed and cries herself to sleep again.  
He strokes her hair and holds her close, despite the warnings he isn’t supposed to stay in the bed while she’s injured. They end up with the room to themselves at last, and finally he rouses her from sleep just once, gently as he can.  
“Padmé,” he murmurs against her forehead, soft and loving and somewhat sad, “it’s raining.”  
Her eyes are shut, and her whole body aches as she nestles closer to him. She can’t hear it.

______________________________________________

  
Officially, Padmé Skywalker and her baby died during labor.  
Records show she was escorted to the hospital and then left there, and hours after giving birth was declared dead.  
Ben Kenobi disappears from the city. Anakin Skywalker takes credit; releases a press statement that Kenobi is responsible for the deaths of his wife and their unborn child, and fled because of it. He’s given special commendation by Governor Palpatine for his efforts to clear out ‘gang violence’ in the city, and there are talks of promotions very soon.  
The city mourns the loss of District Attorney Amidala; she was beloved, and considered a heroine.  
She still will be; in the months to come when hope is most needed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _an epilogue_

They become a series of movements, quiet nights, new documents—and then, finally, they land.

“He looks like you,” he says one night in their new house, their new bed. Strange territory, but welcome.  
“He’s healthy,” she sighs, tired and relieved, nestled against his chest and cradling her sleeping infant close, “That’s all that matters.” He makes a humming sound against her hair and strokes the tuft of impossibly soft, wiping curls on the tiny baby’s head.  
“You’re right; he’s going to be just fine.” He kisses the top of her head, “and so are you.”  
She wonders about that.   
His arms tighten around her as if he knows what she’s thinking. She suspects he does. She thinks of how he’s always, always right, somehow, and falls asleep.

______________________________________________

She’s taken up painting.  
It’s relaxing—lets her decompress a while and she always did wonder what it might have been like to take up the arts.

It’s a learning process.

The first attempts they laugh at; he’s critical in a way that makes her nose wrinkle and gets her huffing about it from time to time but she supposes he did deal in art for a long time—at least, in a way.  
She likes landscapes, but she supposes most artists seem to. Animals are a trial, but flowers are her forte. She’s gotten good at painting flowers; he buys them for her often. Outside is mostly grass—which is lovely in its way, but she loves the color and life in flowers. She’s painting a vase of camellias as a stuttering pattern of footsteps heads her way and then crashes into her room, tumbling headfirst into her waiting arms.

“Mama!!”  
Her son is filthy, and a quick glance behind him says that now the house is, too.  
“Goodness—what’s this little goblin doing here—where is my clean boy, hmm? Where is my clean son!” The muddy toddler in her arms wriggles and giggles delightedly.  
“I ate him!” He makes a very terrible face and does some toothy chomping at her, and she laughs now too.  
“Did you eat my husband too?” She holds the boy at arms length, smiling but wrinkling her nose at his dirty face, his bright blue eyes sparkling through the filth.  
“No, though he made quite the attempt,” comes a voice from the doorway, and she laughs again when her son chomps ferociously again.  
"I’m _hungry_ daddy!”  
“I can’t imagine how with how much you ate just now!” Ben grouses at him, folding his arms as he comes to stand over mother and son sitting on the floor. He can’t stay stern, however, and shakes his head.  
“How much did you eat, hmm?” Padmé leans in until she's almost nose-to-nose with him, wipes at her son’s grimy face and smiles warmly, and Ben’s smile widens at the sight.  
“All of his lunch and probably every berry on the bushes he could get his hands on—“ on cue, the messy child brandishes his hands to show her they’re stained red and purple, which has him cackling with laughter again. She laughs again.  
“Oh dear! Look at you, covered in all of this—I think it’s time to clean up, little goblin. I miss my Quinn’s face.” There’s a bit of huffing until she turns him around by the shoulders. “Shower, and then you and I are making dinner. Your father must be starving!” She glances up as the boy races out of the room, raising an eyebrow, “How did the mud happen, exactly…?” Ben runs a hand through his hair and grimaces while she dusts herself off some and stands up.  
“It’s been rainy lately, my dear, and you sent me into the wild with a semi-aquatic animal.” She snorts, patting his chest.  
“You _volunteered_ , love of mine,” she reminds him, grin making her lips twitch as she tries to suppress it. He wraps an arm around her waist, shaking his head fondly.  
“Well, at least we know he won’t fight us on bedtime tonight.” She grins, opens her mouth to respond, and there’s a crash from down the hall, followed by,  
“Mommy, can you bring me a napkin? Or two, please!”

______________________________________________  
  


Quinn grows.  
His blue eyes are bright and kind, and his hair turns sandy brown in the sun. She loves him. Ben loves him. That’s all that matters.

______________________________________________  
  


She misses work, the firm, her cases, often. Now she paints, and works in finances in the city nearby. It gives her a routine, gives her things to do.  
She stays in touch with some of her oldest friends, and her family. They check in on her often; especially as far away as she is now. Her parents live a few hours away by train, these days, and drop in from time to time. They’re not the kindest to Ben, in the beginning. She and Ben both understand it. They don’t mention her ex, even if she knows they think about things when they’re around. She thinks about things, too. She misses things, here and there. She wishes all of it could have ended different. Better.  
Life is strange, now.  
She comes home some days and finds Ben playing with Quinn outside, or working on homework inside, and she thinks maybe this is worth it.

______________________________________________

They have some days to themselves when Quinn gets older and stays out. The lazy mornings are her favorites, and she languishes in them every chance she has. Draped in their sheets and letting the morning pass them by—today is gray, and she studies his face beside her on their pillows. New lines, new streaks of pale in his tawny hair. She wonders how much older she looks to him now. She's cut her hair and let it grow again, hasn't bothered so much with makeup in recent years. She leaves her long hair curling, now, and as he shifts and she rolls onto her back, it's mussed from sleep and sex and fanned out on the pillow.  
He leans over her and smiles, watching her in turn.  
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, and she reaches up to trace his lips, smiling as he kisses her fingertips.  
“I’ve heard that before…” she says softly, voice gently teasing. His eyes meet hers and she feels warmed down to her bones.  
“Have you?”  
“I think so. But I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing it again.” He laughs quietly and props himself up on one arm, resting a hand on hers where it lays on his cheek.  
“It's your hair,” he smiles, “You look best when it’s like this.” She smiles back, rubbing her thumb over the scruff on his cheekbone.  
“Is it?” He nods. Outside, it starts to rain. She can hear it pattering on the roof and outside their windows, and smiles.  
“You look happy,” he tells her, leaning in to kiss her finally and letting her wrap her arms around his neck, “You look happy this way, darling.”

He’s right; she is.

She listens to the rain, and smiles against Ben's lips, and she's happy.


End file.
